Milwaukee Mike, as probably no one calls him but me, has started a trend, a fling, and meme, the latest in bamboozling foods stuff out of poetry. Here and here. Because I want Mike to like me and the weird things I say about my father dying in Vietnam ;-P I have decided to do him these, since I'm not cool enough to be tagged by K. Silem Mohammad or Rodney Koeneke.
Here they are:
hey mike, you are famous now.
hey mike, pour a bit of rubbing alcohol into our ham-based projection system.
hey mike, take a hint!
hey mike, osmote the earl grey with some mojito resin.
hey mike, mosey scramble that carp reduction and garnish the lard laps with the lot of the peach cobbler.
hey mike, nice bike!
hey mike, gesticulate towards the mounds of our forefathers whenever you get a chance.
hey mike, "Heroes" is back on.
hey mike, the lamppost is a delicate carbunkle; you need to drizzle mohican blood in the crevices, not douse it with Arby's.
hey mike, what happens when you don't oil the door jam with clover guts before you leave? You get written up, that's what!
hey mike, what's with the handsack vestibule blowing out?
hey mike, make sure to make carbon copies of the fish scales you're worth.
This could go on all day, but won't. It's really a fun exrcise. I am a better person for having done it, and for having known Milwaukee Mike's blog post. Carnally. With a knife.
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